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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25462924">Born In The Dawn (Of Sky &amp; Ash)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstralNimue/pseuds/AstralNimue'>AstralNimue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cursed (2020), Cursed (Netflix)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arthurian legend - Freeform, Eventual Romance, F/M, Mentions of Myth &amp; Folklore, Nimue is a softie, Past Abuse, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, fey, mentions of child abuse, so is Lancelot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:34:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25462924</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstralNimue/pseuds/AstralNimue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nimue was weary of the man called Lancelot. She had only known him as 'The Weeping Monk' and those tales did not speak of him well. But after finding Squirrel tangled up with The Red Paladin, she was forced into a life of co-existence with The Fey Killer. Is Romance in bloom? Or will past grievances draw these two Kindred spirits apart? And how does one explain visions of shared futures and a found family?</p><p>This is a story Of Sky And Ash, A Re-telling of A beloved Legend. </p><p>The Sword chose it's Queen, but now she's ready for her King.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nimue/Lancelot, Nimue/The Weeping Monk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>211</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Nimue I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nimue was never one to believe in miracles. Her mother had been taken from her, her fat- Jonah… had left her. Morgana was now sentenced to a life as The Widow, Pym was sure they would never see one other again. Arthur, who she had loved for a brief time, had sailed away with her people, in hopes of leading them to safety, peace and a fresh start away from the Trinity Guard and Rome. And Gawain… how he had been tortured and killed, yet he had not said a single word. Loyalty was a hard thing to come by, she knew that now, but no one would ever come close to that of her Green Knight, her friend, her brother. Her only thoughts, as she sank to the bottom of the lake, were those of her father and of Squirrel. Were they alive? Had Iris slain her father and had The Weeping Monk taken her sweetest companion away from her?</p><p>The uncertainties wrought by those questions hurt her more than the silver arrows embedded in her chest, she had no care for her life. She didn’t matter, her people did, her family and her friends. She gave her life to save them, and while those uncertainties remained, her hope still persevered. Hope, that the Fey would see another sunrise over Britannia’s lush hills, that they would one day be free to return, rebuild and prosper once more. Unafraid and no longer forced into hiding by those blinded by fear or ‘faith’ pushed on them by the cursed Red Paladins. They burned, murdered and destroyed lives of those who held different beliefs to their own, The Fey, Non-Christians and any other who does not wear The Red Cross. Religions and beliefs were one of the largest dividers of the human world, the Fey placed their beliefs in The Hidden, it was what united them in their world. The thought of people feeling so offended by another’s beliefs was truly a foreign concept to her, why couldn’t they celebrate their diversities? Instead of killing one another, they should learn from one another and try to understand the mindset of their fellow man.</p><p>Nimue could no longer feel the sting of the arrows in her chest, Iris was a good shot, that was something The Fey Queen could not deny. If anything, the whole situation illuminated many truths to her. Iris had managed to escape Yvoire Abbey, infiltrated the Nemos hideout and had stuck with them all the way to Gramaire. She must have been the one that killed The Fey and caused the feud within her ranks. She hated the human girl for what she had done, what she could still do was something that truly frightened her. It frightened her more than Father Cardan’s Weeping Monk did, and that was a lot of fear to be responsible for. The Monk, with the tears of blood tattooed under his eyes, the man who she had heard so much about. She truly wished that she would never have the chance to meet him, the arrows in her chest and her blood spilling into the river made sure she wouldn’t, her consciousness slipping with every second she held her breath and every second she remained submerged in the water. She wanted to swim to the surface, but her legs felt limp and weighted, her armour kept her sinking to the ground, her hands felt numb and cold, and her head felt heavy upon her neck. As much as she was ready to die for her people, to be on the verge of it… To feel the blood pump through her veins, to feel it freeze and yet also burn at the same time. She could feel her heartbeat slow, could feel her lungs begin to fill with the water she was forced to breathe.</p><p>It scared her; the thought of death had never fazed her. “Everyone passes on, eventually.” Is what Pym always told her, death always seemed so far from her grasp. But then it had taken her mother, her village, all those that had never cared for her; but that no longer mattered. She was always seen as ‘the devil spawn’ ever since she had survived the Demon’s attack, the scars on her back became her </p><p>metaphorical target. She was scorned and feared, it hurt her at first, a child afraid that she would never make any friends, other than Pym of course. Her mother said she was a survivor, The Demon, The Black Fever, the bullying and the fear of being alone, she had survived it all and came out the other side stronger and better. Nimue knew that she would always be tested, by the elders, by the Sky Folk, even by The Hidden, but those tests had been no match for her in the end. For that is what this was, the end. Her blood spilling from her body, her heart starting to stop, her mind slowing shutting down, what else could this be? She would not live to see her people again; she wouldn’t know what it would be like to have a true father like Merlin. Life was all about survival, trying to live when others want you dead, trying to make End’s Meat, trying to just… stay… alive.</p><p>“Stay alive.”</p><p>A voice broke through her mental barriers, it was sweet and gentle. Almost… affectionate in a way. It seemed familiar to her, like a memory she could feel but not cling to, it made a pang of heartache spring through her body. The voice brought her the feeling of love and safety, but also regret and… sadness.</p><p>“Stay alive, Nimue! Stay alive!”</p><p>That was… Mother!</p><p>Her eyes shot open and the strength returned to her body, she could feel the pull of The Hidden, her armour no longer felt weighted and a new strength flowed through her body. Her legs began to kick and her arms began to move along with them, this was all muscle memory, days spent learning to swim in the lakes near her village, goofy times with her mother as she was taught the ways of the forest. She sometimes wished that she could go back to the day of The Summoning, wished that she could tell her mother how much she loved her and how she was sorry for being so closed off from her, she would ask all about her. What was her mother’s favourite colour? Her favourite food? Did she have a favourite flower too? There were so many things that Nimue didn’t know about her, her own mother and she regretted that even now.</p><p>The only thing running through her head right now was getting to the surface of the water and allowing air into her lungs again, instead of water. She kicked and pulled herself up and up and up, she could no longer form any other thought, ‘swim, swim, swim’ it was a mantra for her inner-most self to repeat as she struggled to the faded light above the water’s shadows. Finally! She broke free, coughing and spluttering and choking on the water she had inhaled while submerged below. Her chest widened as she took in her living breath, Nimue, The Fey Queen and Daughter of Merlin would not die today, she still had a purpose, still had a mission. She swore on The Hidden, on all of the Fey who had been taken from their lands, burned and killed that she would bring justice to them. Even if she had to go all the way to Rome, even if she had to kill the bloody Pope himself, The Red Paladins would fall, The Trinity Guard would fall. Uther Pendragon, Cumber The Ice King and his men, all those who dared to make a mockery of her people would fall. Be it by her hand or another’s she will not rest until it is done.</p><p>The Hidden spoke to her once more, it could sense her resolve, her anger and it approved. The Fey would no longer cower, they will no longer be pushed from their homes, The Wolf-Blood Witch was alive, and she was ready to fight. The human kings, who thought themselves so powerful, will know the harsh kiss of her sword, they will know to fear her and to never underestimate her again. They may have taken Gawain, they may have taken Squirrel and her mother, but they could never take her spirit. She will not bow to men who cannot see past their crowns and their wealth, she will not bend her knee in reverence to those who would see her people starved, homeless and defenceless. They may be kings, but she was a Queen and she need not bow to lesser men.</p><p>‘AH!’ the arrows were still embedded in her chest and her adrenaline was beginning to fade, she needed to reach solid land quickly. Swimming as best she could, she managed to pull herself out of the water and onto the mossy stones of the rockpool. Looking down, she examined the damage done to her chest. The arrows were, thankfully, not laced with poison as she had initially thought they would be, they seemed to be plain silver arrows forged by a Smith. They had not embedded themselves too deeply and the wounds could easily be treated when it was safe enough to remove them, she may be able to move again but an infection caused by recklessly removing an arrow was not in the cards at the moment, or the foreseeable future. So, she grabbed the shaft of the arrow and snapped it, the jerk caused her a brief pang of pain but nothing major, she then did the same to the other. Grabbing a sharpened rock from the ledge of the pool she cut the hem of her tunic into two strips of fabric to bandage the wounds and stabilise her shoulder and chest.</p><p>After bandaging her wound and testing her shoulder’s strength, with the arrowheads still inside of her wounds, she got to her feet and headed into the nearby woods. Maybe she could find a small village along the way or a camp, anywhere to rest and recover from the day’s events. There was no sign of Merlin or Morgana, or even Iris, hopefully her friend and her father were safe and had secured the sword. Travelling at night, injured and unarmed, left her vulnerable and unable to defend herself from those who would wish her harm. She may have killed Father Cardan, but his Paladins still remained on all roads patrolling for any remaining Fey. She needed to rid the world of them and she needed to do it soon, every second they breathe is a second more that The Fey remain endangered, and she refused to allow her people to be slaughtered like livestock. The forest would provide her with enough shelter to hide for the night, her main priority was to find a place that was safe enough for her to rest and recover. It had been a tough week, to say the least, and she honestly deserved some sleep after all of this.</p><p>She walked through the dense forestry and lamented on the loss of Gawaine once more, he was one of her closest friends. They had met when she was a child, he seemed very boisterous and energetic back then. While he had mellowed over the years, his fervour and fighting spirit remained, he became The Green Knight and the protector of The Fauns and other Fey Kind. Seeing him at Nemos had brought back many happy memories, many days filled with laughter and shared dreams of a future beyond the forest. They both wanted the same thing; to live free and save their people. He had become their greatest ally and their driving force against The Paladins and their Weeping Monk, his loss was terrible one and she knew that no one would ever forget his sacrifice. To be taken into Cardan’s camp and tortured by those monsters in Human skin only to die in her arms before she could thank him… it was almost too much to think of. She wished he were still with her, wished that they could laugh once more, but some things simply were not meant to be.</p><p>Seemingly lost to the memories swirling in her head she was barely even aware that her feet had brought her to a crevice in a rock, deep enough to make camp and the entrance was small enough to prevent anyone or any animals from making their way to her. It was not the most ideal of sleeping areas, but her need for sleep was something her body could no longer ignore, nor be deprived of it. She stripped herself of her armour and spied for supplies to create a fire for the night, there were branches swept in from the breeze that could make good firewood, she simply needed to find some loose stones to create a spark. Looking around the perimeter of the cave-like crevice, Nimue managed to find a handful of rocks that would, hopefully, create enough of a spark to light her fire.</p><p>The task was tedious, but she managed to get the stones to create a spark strong enough to light the sticks, with the sacrifice of her sleeve’s hem, and now had a fire to warm her for the night. Sleep may not come quickly but as long as it came in the end she would be grateful, She lay down and patiently waited for sleep to claim her and willed her thoughts to abandon her for a brief spell of peaceful slumber. But, no matter how she tried, they would not leave her. It was the same thought plaguing her since she fell from the Waterfall, ‘is everyone okay? Squirrel? Merlin? Morgana? Arthur? Pym?’ they swirled through her mind and they would not allow her worries to cease or her panic to subside. She feared more for her young friend, Squirrel, he was a brave boy but foolish and impulsive. He had followed The Paladins, infiltrated their camp and made his way to Gawain but he was caught and taken by them. She had no news, was he alive? Was he hurt in any way? He could be starving on the side of the road or surrounded by Paladins who wanted him dead. She wished that he had not left her side, wished that she had forbidden him from accompanying Gawain on his scouting. He would of ignored her for a while and refused to talk, but he would be safe and she would know of his condition.</p><p>That was the main feeling, guilt, she felt guilty. Guilty that she couldn’t keep her people safe, guilty that she had not trusted her father when he had tried to defend himself, guilty that her ignorance had cursed Morgana and subjected her to a life of death as The Widow. Above all, her guilt transfixed itself on the death of her loved ones and her village. If she had not left The Paladins would not of found her village, she could have been home with her mother, preparing to be The Summoner and living her life there as the Sky Folk went about their daily lives. But then… she would not have met Morgana, she would not have seen Gawain again, she would not have met Arthur and had her first love. All those people she had met, fought with and led all meant a great deal to her. She could not imagine a world in which she did not know them, she may have met one or two in passing, but she would not truly know them as she did now.</p><p>She allowed the thoughts of a life with her mother and Merlin, the three of them happy and a family, and soon felt her eyes become weighted and her breathing began to deepen and even out. She closed her eyes and allowed those thoughts to continue circulating. What would it have been like if Merlin had stayed? Would she have grown up with a genuinely loving father and a mother who was happy? Would she have learned the ways of The Hidden more easily? Or would things stay the same? It was those wonders that made her able to slip into a deep sleep, one that she needed.</p><p>It was peaceful for a while; she could not move her body, but her mind still felt awake and alert. However, there was a change in the air, scents she did not recognise nor comprehend how she was smelling them. It felt like Ash had seeped its way into her system and flames engulfed her mind as she fell deeper into the unknown’s embrace. It felt right, to allow herself to fall… and fall she did.</p><p>The first thing she became aware of was the forest, it looked familiar but at the same time it felt like a strange place. The next thing that hit her was the scent of blood, some dry, one fresh and that did not unnerve her as much as it should have if she thought about it. Her eyes focused and she could see the faint shadow of a horse and a figure on its back, there was no one around for miles so this must be what she was looking for. Her legs moved and broke off at a run towards the horse and it’s rider, who she guessed all of the blood was coming from, as she got closer the coppery stench began to overtake her senses and she almost choked at the bitter smell. She had managed to catch up to the steed and the first thing she realise was that there were two riders, not one. The injured rider was a man, judging by the build, and the other? A child?</p><p>Speeding ahead and spinning on her heel she glimpsed at the faces staring unto the road ahead of them, Squirrel… and The MONK?! Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the two of them, and many emotions flooded through her system. The first, relief, Squirrel was safe, and he seemed completely unharmed, perhaps a little tired after such an ordeal, but there were no marks on him, and he didn’t look to be in any pain. The second was fear, why was he with the monk? Why did he not seem fazed by the presence of the man riding behind him? The man in question was terribly injured, but they did not seem to be wounds caused by Fey swords or arrows, the mark of the steel seemed human. The final emotion, and the one that scared her the most, was… belonging. ‘where had that come from?’ her thoughts were all muddled in her mind and she could not place the origin or cause of that feeling. Perhaps it was because Squirrel carried the familiarity of Fey, of Kin, but why she also felt t around the man with blood red tears she didn’t know.</p><p>Being here, in the land between? In a dream? It was strange, to say the least, it was like she was conscious, but she also wasn’t. She could hear, see, smell and touch her surroundings but nothing truly felt real. Yet, here Squirrel was, seemingly content with travelling alongside the Fey killer, a human man with hatred in his heart. But she had noticed that the man seems exhausted and troubled… and, if he was being gentle with Squirrel or, dare she say, caring towards him, then she had no issues with it. She hoped that the two were civil with one another if they were forced into this, Nimue didn’t know what she would do if anything happened to her little friend and she hoped that the monk would at least give mercy to a child and spare him from witnessing any more horror. Squirrel, and Merlin, was the only family she truly had left. After his parents had died she had taken him in and taught him the ways of the forest and their way of life, she viewed him as a brother and she doesn’t know what she would do if anything took him from her.</p><p>Turning back to gaze at the road ahead of the two, she began to place the trees and the way the rocks were laid out around the base of the path. This was close to the lake she swam out of; they were about a day’s ride from where her cave was. She, realistically, could meet the two of them halfway and join them on their travels. That way she could be with Squirrel again and keep an eye on the Monk and ensure he didn’t step out of line. All of a sudden, she felt a burning sensation in the back of her skull, almost as if someone was looking at her, turning around at a snail’s pace she looked behind her and she met the eyes… of the Monk.</p><p>His eyes were bluer than the English sea, his skin as pale as the smoothest porcelain and the tears tattooed under his eyes are as crimson as the roses in the valley and in an instant, her breath was caught in her throat. Not out of fear, but out of shock, he was… beautiful.</p><p>She woke with a start; her palms were sweating, and her breaths were unstable and fast-paced. Why was she reacting the way she was? The way he had looked at her- because he looked at her, he had seen her… but wasn’t she having a vision? Usually her visions allow her to remain unseen as a way of not upsetting The Hidden’s laws of balance. But he had looked into her eyes, had acknowledged her presence and his eyes had widened at her appearance. He knew she was there and the connection broke, the connection that had somehow linked them? Or was that just a coincidence? Perhaps she had missed someone else on the road as she turned. Maybe it was one of his Paladin friends? And he had simply been looking through her instead.</p><p>Not allowing herself to be distracted she got ready to set off, as sunlight was beginning to shine in through the crack in the cave’s wall. She must have simply let time get away from her for it to be a new day already. If she was going to reach the two of them in time then she would need to start walking now, if only Old Boy was there, she had left him a short while away from Pendragon’s campsite. She hoped that he had found a safe place to stay with food and water, he was a good horse and she wishes that someone would find him and care for him, he deserved better than someone who brought danger with her wherever she went. Making her way out of the cave, being mindful of her chest, she set off on her way to meet her little Squirrel and the Monk with the pretty eyes again. This was going to be a long journey and she definitely had a lot to think about on the way, like when she decided that The Fey Killer had Pretty eyes and why that didn’t seem to truly faze her as much as it probably should have.</p><p>~ Many Hours Later ~</p><p>Nimue had been on the road for around 5 hours, noon had come and gone, and her legs were beginning to get tired. Her chest was faring no better than it had earlier in the day, it was starting to hurt, her guess was that sleeping had caused the aftershocks to fully leave her system and now she was feeling the pain of the arrowheads still being inside of her. She needed to have them removed and the wounds stitched unless she wanted the wound to become infected and for her to become sick. She saw a man from the fish market get an infected wound and the fever that took him was unrelenting, his skin turned green and his temperature shot out through the roof. He suffered for days and when it was at its worse it took his life. He left his wife and three young children behind; she would often take offerings down to them and help with food. The humans may have been cruel to The Fey but she would never leave a woman and her family to starve.</p><p>The one lesson that her mother always taught her was ‘Just because someone is cruel to you, doesn’t mean you should be cruel in return. Always turn the other cheek and know that you were the bigger person and walked away’ Nimue was an unruly 12-year-old when she heard that. A human girl from a passing caravan had called her a ‘freak’ because she had caught sight of the scars on her back, Nimue had lashed out and made the roots of a nearby oak tree wrap around the rude girl’s legs. She was scolded harshly by her mother and she had to apologise to the girl and her family by agreeing to do their laundry for the remainder of their stay. It was a gruelling three weeks, but her mother had actually looked proud of her, that was worth ig, now that she had looked back on the moment now.</p><p>She wished that she could ask her mother what she thought of everything that happened, she would probably do her classic sigh and tell her that she had no idea of what to do.</p><p>The only thing she was sure of was the fact that she would tell her to find Squirrel and keep him safe. So, in honour of her mother, and Squirrel, she decided that she would continue to fight for what was right, and not be judgemental to those that would hurt her people out of blind fear. She would focus on helping the humans understand that The Red Paladins were not a trusted source of information, that The Fey were not ‘Demons in disguise’ she hoped that one day she would eradicate those thoughts from their minds. She would not, however, force them to accept her people like The Paladins forced them to hate The Fey on pain of execution. She would be known as a kind Queen, and while she had no desire to rule Britannia if she had to take the throne, she would. The sword did choose the ‘One True King’ after all and the sword had chosen her from the moment that she wielded it.</p><p>Walking down the beaten forest path she came across many things: a family of Foxes, some Blue Jays in the sycamore tree, a pair of Geese by a pond in the lagoon and many other creatures. With all of the chaos that had ensued over the past month, she almost forgot how beautiful the forest could truly be, how peaceful it is here. This is the forest she grew up in and this is the forest that she swore to protect from The Paladins and their cruelty to her home, she wished that she could have preserved the beauty of Nemos and she wished that her village and the wildflowers that grew within it could have been saved from Cardan’s flames. Some days she wondered if she could ever go back, would she be able to handle it? To return to the place she lost everything and everyone? She knew that it would be hard to go back and never see her mother again, to see the charred bodies of the villagers crucified by those heathens.</p><p>Maybe, after all of this was over, she would have her home rebuilt. Pym could have her home back and Morgana could see where she grew up, maybe Arthur would enjoy it too. Arthur, how foolish she had been to think she was in love with him, her time in the lake opened her mind to everything that had transpired between them. He had promised to help with her mother’s dying wish, carried her while she was sleeping to a Nunnery, left her in harm’s way, stole her sword to compete in a tourney, then he tried to insert himself into The Fey’s ranks and take charge of their plans. She cared for him, of course she did, but she did not love him. If anything, she was in love with the idea of him, with the idea of love and she had never truly experienced it… so how could she know what it was? She wished him all the best, and hoped that he would find his love, but she knew that it wasn’t her.</p><p>With that sombre thought tucked away she continued down her path, the heat was started to get to her and she didn’t know how long she had been walking for. She knew that noon happened a while ago, as she heard the twelve tolls of a nearby clocktower that she passed earlier in her journey, but now she had no idea what time it was. She knew that it wasn’t evening as the sun still shone brightly in the sky, but the fatigue that her legs were experiencing told her that she had been walking for quite some time now. </p><p>Deciding to cut through the thicket, she made her way deep into the forest, as the sound of running water reached her ears. Perhaps she could find a fresh spring so she could quench the thirst in her throat, her cantina had been empty since she had passed the Foxes she had seen earlier. Making her way past bushes and brambles, the spring thar she had hoped for finally came into view. It was a beautiful clear blue and the smell of the fresh liquid made her mouth feel a lot drier than she thought it was. Crouching down to feel the cold water, she got to washing her hands and face of the sweat that had gathered there after her long walk, she could not stop to bathe as she was still too close to Paladin territory to allow a moment of weakness in all of this chaos.</p><p>She filled her cantina with the water she needed and started to pack up to move along, but her ears picked up on the sound of hooves and she was immediately on high alert. This was Paladin territory and she was a sitting goose in her outfit, everyone knew what she looked like now, what with her meeting with Uther Pendragon. She ran to hide behind the trunk of an old oak tree and waited to see who was heading towards the spring, She didn’t know how longs she was waiting behind the tree for, but soon the hooves grew closer and her nerves were immediately on edge. She could feel The Hidden’s powers run through her, her every nerve was on fire and she could feel the adrenaline in her veins begin to spike once again</p><p>The culprit finally rounded the corner and it was… “Old Boy?!!” her grey stallion made his presence known by his tell-tale whinny and flick of his ears. Nimue was so happy to see him again, thinking she had lost him forever, she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, you silly horse! Did you follow me? How did you find me?” she let out a joyful giggle at the sight of his knotted mane, he always did have a habit of getting his hair tangled in leaves and branches. It was always a hassle trying to get the branches, bugs and leaves out from his wild tangles but it left her with many humorous memories with herself and Pym. They seemed so far away now, that it was almost as though that never happened, she also remembered the time that Squirrel tried to ride Old Boy without telling her, she had found them both in a field, Squirrel covered in mud (after being thrown) and Old Boy grazing happily a few feet away. She had never laughed so much in all her life.</p><p>Burying her head into his mane, she thought only of the good times spent at her old home, how her only struggle was if she would spend her entire life being the subject of bullying because of her scars. Those were the biggest struggles that she had to endure in her quaint life, now she had two arrows embedded in her, her legs were caving, her nerves were constantly on edge, she was having strange visions and now she was reunited with her horse. She honestly missed the pathetic bullies, all who were probably dead now, killed by Cardan and his pathetic cult of worshippers. She almost wished that she had made his death slower than what it was, just a decapitation almost seemed pathetic for the crimes he committed against The Fey. But she was not a cruel person, if anyone had to die it should never be by an act of torture, that was something that she would never stand for.</p><p>Nimue had felt sick the moment the deed was done, but she was filled with so much anger after Gawain had died in her arms, watching him be encased in the roots of The Hidden had torn her heart into pieces. He was family and he had died protecting her from Cardan, that’s why she was so adamant on not allowing Cardan to leave alive, she could not let the man responsible for his death walk free and think that he had won, she just couldn’t allow it. It had brought her no pleasure to kill, she did find pleasure in knowing Cardan no longer terrorised her, but the actual act of killing made her feel sick. She did not know how people found pleasure in it, she had never seen herself as truly capable enough to kill a person, those wolves didn’t feel like this. She held no regrets about killing them, but it still never felt that good to do it.</p><p>No longer wallowing in her sad memories, she took advantage of the situation and mounted Old Boy, if her horse just miraculously shows up when she’s exhausted? Well, she is going to take advantage of that and ride him for the rest of the journey. This way, she could get to where she needs to be in less time than it would have taken her to walk. She just hoped that she was right, and Squirrel was truly near where her vision said he was, and she hoped that he was still okay and not in any danger.</p><p>Nimue had almost forgotten what it felt like to have the wind flow through her hair while she was on horseback, what it felt like to be a part of the summer breeze and not have a care for anything happening in the world. There was something so freeing about riding that she would never be able to understand. Old Boy was a marvel, he was strong and fast, stood at 19 hands and he truly galloped as fast as the wind, it was an incredible thing to be able to experience. Though, the pain in her chest made itself more known as she rode, it still was not enough to discourage her from experiencing this careless feeling for a little while longer. She only wished her life would get to the point where she could do and feel this more often, but right now it seems like that was impossible.</p><p>She revelled in the feelings that she experienced while galloping down the path, she knew that after meeting up with Squirrel the reality of the world would still be reality. She would no longer have this feeling and that thought upset her, but she allowed herself this moment. The trees passed them by as she made her way to the path near the lake she saw in her dreams, if her vision was right, Squirrel and The Monk would be a short while away and she would finally see her little brother again. She didn’t realise how much she had missed him until she realised that she could lose him, and that was a terrifying thought. She could lose anyone, but not Squirrel, she had seen him grow up, had watched as he learned and develop, she watched him become the prankster he is and she wouldn’t trade the little troublemaker for the world.</p><p>She saw the break in the trees that showed signs of the lake she knew they would be, because now there was no doubt, she could almost feel him. It was strange, she felt him, she could feel his energy and she knew exactly where to go, where he was and how he was feeling. “Squirrel, I’m coming.” She spurred Old Boy on and headed towards the break, she was nervous but excited to see the little one again, she would hold him so tight and would never let him out of her sight again. He would never be allowed to go off alone again, she would never restrict him, but he was NEVER going off on a dangerous adventure without her again. She loved him too much to allow him to be put in danger again, after all she was the one that allowed him to go with Gawain, which led to them being captured and Gawain tortured and killed. It would always be a regret she could never correct, so she would honour Gawain’s memory and protect the boy who saw him as a hero, even if it exhausted her to the point of no return.</p><p>The break had come upon them and Nimue made her way out of the forest and headed towards the lake, she was getting closer to him every second she rode. She could feel it in her soul, he was close, and she was antsy just thinking about seeing him again, her little Squirrel, all chubby-cheeks and playful personality, with his dry wit and lack of filter. It was one of the best things about him, he was a child, children didn’t know the true darkness of the world and their brains couldn’t process it, he would retain his innocence and that’s all she really hoped for. She hoped that she could shield him from the true cruelty of the world, if she could help it, and let him remain as sweet as he was now, that would be enough for her.</p><p>Riding for another three minutes she could see a faint shadow of a horse and rider, and while she tried not to get her hopes up, her heart was abuzz with happy feelings that led her to only be filled with hope. It had to be him, she did not know what she would do if it wasn’t him, if the rider was just a traveller lost on their way. But something in her heart told her otherwise, it told her that she was not wrong and that she would be reunited with him soon enough… the anticipation was almost enough to make her forget everything bad that had happened so far.</p><p>Finally, the rider’s identity came to light.</p><p>It was Squirrel! It was really him! In the flesh.</p><p>The young boy looked up, his eyes caught hers and a large smile broke out on his face. “Nimue?! Is that really you?!” he slowed his horse to a stop and hopped off, she did the same with old boy and made her way towards her little friend. “Squirrel! You’re alright!” she picked him up off of the ground and hugged him as tightly as possible, she could feel him shake in her arms and she shushed him while rocking him back and forth. “Oh, honey it’s okay. You’re alright, we both are. Okay?” she rubbed his back and he nodded his head while clinging to her hair. “Nimue! You’re hurting me!” his voice was hoarse, and she didn’t realise how tightly she was clinging to him until she heard him. She immediately loosened her grip and put him on the ground, she then looked up and saw the hunched over figure in the saddle. “Squirrel, you know I love you and trust you without any doubt… but why is There a Monk in your saddle?” the boy looked at her and a large, innocent, smile broke out on his face at her words.</p><p>He ran over to the saddle and gestured her to stand next to him, Nimue was sceptical, but she listened to him anyway. “Nimue, this is Lance-, umm, Lancel- uh?” he was struggling to remember something, but the man turned and looked Nimue in the eyes. “Lancelot. My name is Lancelot.” She was dumbstruck. She knew his name couldn’t have been ‘The Weeping Monk’ but to actually hear his name? hear his voice? it was almost too much for her. “Lancelot? I’m Nimue.” His eyes quirked up, in genuine amusement, “I know, our little friend here wouldn’t stop talking about you the entire time, though he never mentioned that you were so protective.” His words made her let out a small chuckle, “Yeah, Squirrel is like family to me, so I’m very serious when it comes to him.” He looked down at the sheepish young boy who was avoiding her eyes, and then nodded his head in agreement. Despite his past, and her reservations about him (she still didn’t trust him) she was grateful to see that Squirrel was fine.</p><p>Nimue was going to ask him how he and Squirrel had come to be friends and travel together, but he winced and fell forward. He came tumbling to the ground and she barely managed to catch him as he fell, he was unconscious and bleeding profusely from his chest, she would have to get them to a safe place. Then she remembered; the spring had a cave behind it. She had seen it when she had filled her cantina, though it only looked to be shallow, it should be okay for them to settle down for the night and for her to treat The Monk’s- … Lancelot’s wounds. Squirrel was panicking beside her, fretting over the unconscious man in her arms and at the look she gave him, brought Old Boy over to her.</p><p>“Squirrel, you ride on the horse you came here on, I’ll help Lancelot onto Old Boy, keep the reins tight and don’t lose sight of me. Promise me?” He nodded and mounted the mare that they had travelled on, while she helped Lancelot onto her saddle. Old Boy briefly protested at the strange man on his back but calmed at the gentle stroke that she gave to his withers, nickering his acceptance and holding still for her. She climbed on behind the unconscious Paladin and motioned for Old Boy to trot on, for Lancelot’s chances to increase she needed to reach the spring fast, and Squirrel set off to match Old Boy’s pace. “Squirrel, are you with me?” he voiced his agreement and she spurred Old Boy into a Gallop, briefly looking back to the sight of Squirrel galloping after her, thank the Gods she taught him how to ride last winter.</p><p>It took them around 30 minutes to reach the spring, Lancelot was growing warmer by the minute and panic began to set in when he was no longer responsive to her touch. Squirrel hopped from his horse and tied him to a nearby tree as Nimue prepared to help Lancelot down from Old Boy, she needed to get his cloak and shirt off, fast. His chances at making it were dwindling every second that they weren’t treating his wounds. She briefly instructed Squirrel to gather wood for a fire and the boy hurried to get all the wood he needed, she just hoped that Lancelot could pull through this. She needed to have a look at his chest and see what she could do, luckily, he had a sword on him, that would make it easier if she needed to cut his shirt off.</p><p>Squirrel gathered the wood and placed it inside of the cave, whilst she managed to get Lancelot onto the ground without causing anymore pain to him, hopefully anyway, and headed towards the cave’s entrance pulling the injured man alongside her. He wasn’t as heavy as she suspected he would be, but he still had quite a bit of weight to him, since he was unconscious. Squirrel had managed to get the fire started, she’d have to ask him how he did that later, and he motioned for her to set Lancelot down near it, to warm him up and keep him from developing frostbite. Laying him down on the mossy floor of the cave she began to work on removing his cloak and shirt, hopefully his wounds weren’t that fatal, but the fact that he had lost consciousness was not a good sign, and she needed to examine him as soon as possible.</p><p>His cloak was easy to remove and she didn’t struggle. His shirt, however, was tight-fitted and wasn’t budging, she didn’t want to risk tearing open any contusions, so she grabbed a dagger from his belt and got to cutting through it. After making some quick cuts, she grabbed the shirt with both hands and tore it open, making sure it was ripped clean off before she got to examining him. She was no healer, but she did know how wounds worked, she obtained many of them as a child after all, enough to know how to treat them, thanks to her mother. Looking at his chest she noticed two things, one; he had incredibly sculpted abs and a toned chest, and two; his wounds were a lot more severe than she had originally thought they would be. It wasn’t too dangerous, as long as his temperature didn’t develop into a fever, he would be fine and would have only a few scars left on his chest after all this.</p><p>Nimue used some of his torn shirt and the water in her cantina to clean off the wounds, they weren’t too deep and only a few seemed to need stitching, she went to adjust his position but paused when she felt something wet on his back. She pulled her hand back and saw blood, seems like he had sustained some wounds to his back too, she would have to check his back too and hopefully his injuries there wouldn’t call for concern. She would still have to monitor him for the rest of the afternoon, and probably throughout the night if he didn’t wake, she just hoped that Squirrel hadn’t grown too attached to the man he travelled with. If Lancelot doesn’t make it through the night, then he would have to deal with the loss of another… friend? She couldn’t bare it if she ended up having to console him through another death. He would be so sad for the rest of the week, and she didn’t want to see him sad ever again, she would miss his sweet smile and his hugs. He would become closed off from her and be too upset to communicate with her and she didn’t think she could handle that.</p><p>After looking at his chest, thoroughly, she cleaned the wounds that weren’t in need of stitches and hoped that her saddlebags hadn’t been raided by people looking for supplies, if everything was still there then her sewing kit should still be there with her needles. If luck favoured her, which it usually didn’t, she would be able to sew his wounds until they reached a town with a doctor in it that would see to him. Now, she needed to have a look at his back and see what she was working with there.</p><p>As she went to grab onto his back once more, Lancelot woke with a start and moved away from her. “What do you think you’re doing?!” he seemed agitated, his eyes were shifting back and forth, and he clearly seemed afraid of her, which was strange to her. “I was treating your wounds, you collapsed shortly after we met, and I brought you to a spring. Are you okay, Lancelot?” she moved towards him slowly, while Squirrel looked on, worried about him. Lancelot looked at her like she was a predator waiting for the kill, she stopped, treating him like a spooked animal that would run if she made any sudden movement. “My wounds? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes became dilated and he was fearful still, it truly shocked her, he was known to be a feared man among The Fey and seeing him like this was a true shock to her system.</p><p>She remembered him waltzing into her village, looking every bit like the Angel of Death, striking fear into all those who gazed upon him. But here he was, cowering in the corner of a dimly lit cave, trying to seem like a big bad wolf but looking ever bit a sheep. Nimue sighed and looked at him and then Squirrel, who shrugged at her in response, “Look, Lancelot. I don’t mean you any harm, but your wounds need to be sewn and your back is bleeding. You are at high risk of developing a deadly fever, please let me help you.” He looked at her and seemed to deliberate on what she said to him, “Okay, I’ll allow that, but all I ask is that you leave my back alone, it’s fine… I promise.” She wanted to protest, but she didn’t want to find out if he had a bad temper if pushed. So, she conceded, allowed him to come back over to her and opened up his chest so that she had a better look at his cuts. Nimue waited for him to nod his consent and then began to treat his wound, turning to Squirrel, “Honey, check Old Boy’s saddlebags for me, there should be some sewing needles and thread in there.” The young boy nodded his head and ran off to go check in the bags.</p><p>Lancelot kept his eyes on her as she cleaned the wounds over his bellybutton, he winced as the fabric met an old scar. “I’m sorry for earlier, I’m not used to people touching me and not- never mind. But I am sorry if I spooked you, Nimue? Was it?” she nodded at her name and made her touch gentler so that he would be a little more comfortable around her. “It’s alright, I also don’t like people touching me that much. Especially my back.” She smirked a little and watched as the blood was wiped from his skin, he seemed to cock his head to the side as he heard her speak. “Can I… ask why?” she tensed at the question but decided that it might actually help him be more open with her.</p><p>“When I was 5, I was lured into the lair of a Dark God. It wanted to eat me, but I survived thanks to The Hidden, but not before it managed to leave three claw marks down my back. I was mocked for the rest of my life; I was even held to a tree once as a group of teens from my village belittled me for having them. They just, have a lot of bad memories attached to them.” By the end of it, the pain of the memories still haunted her. Looking up, she saw that Lancelot was looking at her with a strange look in his eyes, almost like he had, not only sympathy, but empathy as well. That made her feel strange, almost happy to have someone who could… relate… his back. “You know what that’s like, don’t you? That’s what’s wrong with your back. I won’t push, but you understand, don’t you?” he looked at her and simply nodded.</p><p>They both caught each other’s eyes and smiled, he even let out a small chuckle, she got back to cleaning his wounds and waited for Squirrel to, hopefully, find her sewing kit. Nimue was never able to connect with someone so deeply, but Lancelot was surprisingly easy to speak to. He wasn’t as terrifying as those red tears made him out to be, and she would ask him about those one day, when they were comfortable enough to talk about things like that with one another.</p><p>Who knows, maybe this was the start of a great friendship between the two of them, she was curious to see where this would end up going. ‘would he go back to hurting The Fey? Or is he done with that life? Would they pull him back in?’ he seemed like a nice man, but she had been burned by ‘nice men’ in the past and she refused to fall prey to this one. Sure, he has pretty eyes, a good body, soft-looking hair and a genuine smile… but that could all be a cover. The only thing that she was sure of was that he seemed to genuinely care for Squirrel and wanted him to be safe, her guess was that he had something to do with leaving The Paladins. But what could have made a lifelong convert leave? It just didn’t make any sense to her.</p><p>But she didn’t want to jinx anything, so she would just have to have faith that he cared enough for Squirrel that he wouldn’t try to hurt them. She wishes that she could be like Squirrel and act like nothing happened, but she just couldn’t ignore the things that he had done before he found his way to this cave and she probably never will. But, for now, she would have to just try to get along with him, maybe something good will come out of it. ‘The Weeping Monk’ was famous for his fighting skill and she could definitely use someone like that in her fight against Pendragon and Cumber, or any of The Red Paladins left in the country. She just hoped that he could come to see that their fight was one worth helping, she just wished that he could see past his hatred for Fey, which seemed to be the case for Squirrel.</p><p>Speaking of whom, the youngling himself came rushing in through the entrance clutching her needles and thread. She was happy to see that her saddlebags hadn’t been scavenged and that her things still seemed to be there, he would have had less of a survival rate if her needles had been taken, his wounds would have remained open and they, most likely, would have become infected incredibly fast. She’s simply happy that this made it less likely for her to have to bury a body in the morning, which was a very sombre thought to have now that she evaluated it. But this was a great thing, this meant that she could finally get to sewing him up, and he could finally begin his road to healing. There weren’t many injuries that needed to be sewn up, but the ones that did were deep and required a very steady hand, he was going to have scars regardless but she didn’t want them to be jagged and unclean.</p><p>She, sadly, didn’t have anything to properly sterilise the needles, so washing them in water would have to do. Squirrel sat himself down near the fire and kept it burning so that Nimue wouldn’t lose the little light she had, No one wanted to sew up an injured person in the pitch blackness of a cave at sundown, she needed all of the light she could get. Lancelot braced himself for the impact of the threaded needle by tensing up, and Nimue would be lying if she said that her eyes were not drawn to his chest when he did that. Getting back on track, Nimue began to pierce the skin of his wound and started to work on sewing his skin back together. Lancelot let out a small grunt of pain and she could see his jaw clench up at the feeling of being sewn up, She tried to be more gentle, but she doubted even that could ease the pain of having your skin pierced by a sharp piece of metal over and over again.</p><p>Nimue’s hands remained steady throughout the entire process, and she even managed to do a nice and clean job with the stitching. He wouldn’t have any messy scars to go along with his… collection of others. She couldn’t say that it was a painless job, he definitely winced and grunted a few times, but what mattered to her was the fact that she managed to get the wounds closed and set Lancelot on his way to a full recovery, but she would still have to watch out for any fever he may develop, that was always the most dangerous part of any deep injury.</p><p>After the job was done, she handed Lancelot his cloak, “I know that you don’t want me to look at your back, and since I had to cut your shirt off, I figured that this would be good to use for now, I hope you don’t mind that it’s a little dirty. I could always wash it in the spring if you want?” Lancelot seemed to ponder this for a moment, “No thank you, I can do it myself. You’ve already done enough for me and I can’t ask you to do anything else for me.” Nimue was surprised, here he was. Injured, possibly at risk of fever, most likely hungry and thirsty, but he didn’t want her to do anything else for him. Honestly? she thought that it was sweet, he didn’t think that she needed to do everything for him, and that was very considerate of him. “I’ll wash it myself, if you don’t mind, I could also use a dip in the pool below the spring, I’ll bring back some more water for us too.” With that said, he headed out of the cave, with his back to the wall, of course.</p><p>Nimue turned to look at Squirrel, and the poor boy was fast asleep in the corner of the room, she decided to help warm him up. Taking her corset and unlacing it to allow room for her to breathe after a long time left laced into it. Next was her overshirt and bracers, which were all easy to remove. When her overshirt was removed she placed it over Squirrel’s sleeping body so that he could be warm a while he slept, as the fire began to die out. Left in only her undershirt, she placed her bracers back on her wrists, some things just felt strange when altered after all. Nimue decided that she would venture out looking for more wood for the campfire, she also took a knife. Perhaps she would be lucky enough to catch a small animal so that the three of them could get some food into their bodies. </p><p>Taking her knife, she left the cave in search of food and wood for the fire, she didn’t see Lancelot when she got to the spring, which caused her to panic. “Lancelot?” she called out to him but there was no answer, had he left? Or was he hiding in wait for her to have a lowered guard so he could strike, she was immediately on edge and was glad that she decided to take her knife with her. Nimue cautiously made her way to where he said he would be, the pool below the spring and took nothing but cautious steps.</p><p>And there he was, in the pool with his hands brushing the leaves, and his hand… blending in… with the blades of grass… he was a… was… a…</p><p>“You’re a FEY?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter 2 is in the works!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Lancelot I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry for making everyone wait so long for this chapter, I was in a major writing slump. </p>
<p>But here is the long-awaited Chapter 2!</p>
<p>Featuring the overuse of the words 'Damage' 'Wounds' and 'He'</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Riding with the young boy he had known for so long now, having used him less than a month ago as bait for the demo- Fey, Lancelot was feeling a little less regretful for leaving The Paladin’s camp. But after seeing the loyalty of The Green Knight, seeing how he still viewed him as a brother after all he had done… that had broken through to him. Made him question so much of who he was, what he was raised to believe and what he was. He had hidden his Fey heritage for years, had not connected to The Hidden in so long, he knew that he could never go back, there were no Ash Folk left to return to. His village, his friends, his family… they had all burned that day, he would have too, had he not been born with the gift he has. If he did not have the ability to sense The Fey, he would have been thrown to the flames and left to die. But instead he had been turned into a weapon, his only use being that of hunting down and killing his own kind, why would anyone want him back after all of that?</p>
<p>He had burned villages, killed countless people all for what? The love of the man who had done nothing but show him cruelty and killed his family? He sometimes wondered what his life would be like if he had not of been subjected to his village burning, would he be married now? With children who loved him, and he loved in return? Or would he be a soldier, fighting for his people instead of against them? Like Sir Gawain, ‘The Green Knight’, the man who broke through to him and managed to open his eyes to the inhumane things he had done. Watching how, no matter how much torture he experienced, he would not reveal his identity. What was it he had said?</p>
<p>“All Fey are brothers, even the lost ones.”</p>
<p>That was something that Lancelot would not forget, he would not forget Sir Gawain, would not forget his loyalty or his trust. He had not looked at him with hatred, only pity and remorse. He didn’t hate him, he saw no anger in his eyes, he hated what Lancelot- No… what The Weeping Monk did, for he was no longer The Monk. He was Lancelot, Fey, Ash Folk and man of the forest. He was no human man, he was no Paladin, he was no ‘Avenging sword of light’ he knew that his crimes would never be forgotten, but perhaps he would be able to earn the forgiveness of his people. There was no Ash Folk left, only him, he had no children to continue the line and he doubted he ever would.</p>
<p>This ‘Squirrel’ boy, Percival, was as sweet as he was annoying, he had not kept quiet their entire ride. He was grateful for it, in a way, he was exhausted and horribly injured after his fight with The Trinity Guard, they had managed to get quite a few licks in at his chest, which no doubt looked like hell, and he could feel the blood seeping through his shirt and tunic. No doubt exhaustion was going to catch up to him at some point soon, he only hoped that the kid was arrogant enough to leave him behind when that happened. He had to admit, he was curious about his riding companion, so he decided to ask him a few things he wanted to know.</p>
<p>“So, Percival, you’re Sky Folk am I right?”</p>
<p>The young boy looked back at him and waited a moment before he replied to him.</p>
<p>“Yes. I was born Sky Folk; I don’t really remember my parents much though. I knew my father for a while, before he died, and then my friend Nimue took me in. She was kind of like my mother, in a way, she always took care of me and looked out for me when I was in trouble. I miss her… so much.”</p>
<p>The young one suddenly bore a look of sadness and heartache, he had really loved this ‘Nimue’ woman, had even viewed her as a mother. Lancelot felt for him. He couldn’t remember his parents at all, except for the fact that his mother would wear an Emerald Green dress lined with embroidered leaves, he used to pick at the threads when he was a child. He knew his father was a good man, an honest man and was a soldier in their village, making sure that The Ash Folk were safely guarded from harm. His father would have been ashamed to see his son killing his own kind, Lancelot wouldn’t blame him either.</p>
<p>He also remembered the day that his parents were taken from him, growing up he believed it was the day of his ‘Salvation’ and that it marked the beginning of his atonement. Now, he saw it as it truly was. The day that Lancelot lost his family, the day that he should have died, it was nought but his power that saved him. There was no pity from Father Cardan, no guilt-ridden conscious that willed him to save a young boy, it was all an act of selfish gain. He had won twice-over by saving Lancelot, he had rid the world of more ‘Demons’ and he had gained a Fey Bloodhound to aid in his killings.</p>
<p>He was a fool to believe that Cardan loved him, but his childish mind didn’t understand the reality he was thrust into, he had tried to cling to any form of affection. He was a foolish child who believed that Cardan’s ‘love’ was genuine and that he had truly viewed him as a son. Looking back? He now knows that his life was never truly his.</p>
<p>Looking at the boy in front of him, how he had faced so many Paladins, had witnessed his friend pass on, had been on the run for so long and had lived… Lancelot saw so much of himself there. He couldn’t let anyone do to Percival, what was done to him or any of the other Fey children that Cardan had guiltlessly burned. Maybe it was his way of righting everything he did, maybe he was meant to meet Percival when he did, where he did and how he did. Fate always was a cruel, yet funny master, wasn’t he? He only hoped that he could redeem himself and show the young Fey that he was to be trusted and that he would let no harm befall him while they travelled. And anyone who dared would have to be cut down, be they friend or foe.</p>
<p>Lancelot was never one for sentimentality, he was raised to be a remorseless weapon, only to kill and purge the world of sinners. But sitting here, bleeding out, with a young Fey boy leading them to who-knows-where after escaping the only life he’d ever known? He couldn’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness for the boy. Percival couldn’t be any older than ten, maybe eleven? But he had still thrown himself into the enemy’s clutches, for his friends, because he was loyal and unafraid in the face of danger. But to many, he was a child, to The Paladins, a Demon. Lancelot? He saw a soldier, a fighter, sure he was still young and had many years of training to have before he even thought about donning armour and brandishing a sword. He would train him himself, if he needed to, if he had to be the one to teach him in the years to come, he would. He had grown t care for him, had become attached in the short time of knowing him… and he’d be damned if he let all of that bonding go to waste because the child was too weak to truly defend himself.</p>
<p>He felt a sharp pain on his abdomen and knew that his wounds were more than a ‘flesh wound’ as he had said to placate the worried boy, who had almost cried in worry at the blood staining his shirt and cloak. He had somewhat convinced the child that most of the blood belonged to The Trinity Guard, which wasn’t entirely true, but he didn’t want to upset him. They had fought to leave together, and he would make sure that Percival would not be dragging a corpse along with him. If he could make it to safety with him, then maybe die in a Medic’s tent where the boy was far away and in the arms of those who would care. Lancelot hoped that, if he couldn’t make it, Percival would live on and not be upset at his passing. He prayed, if that was still open to him, that the boy would be safe and live a full life. It had been less than a month that he had known him, but already he cared too much, he shouldn’t… but he does.</p>
<p>“Lancelot? Are you alright, you’ve gone quiet?”</p>
<p>The quiet monologue in his head was broken by his voice and snapping back to attention he saw that Goliath had stopped and Percival had turned back and was staring at him in worry. He gave the blonde a small, albeit pained, smile and assured him that he was okay, and he did not need to worry about him. But he was lying through his teeth, he could practically feel the blood leaving his arteries and spilling onto his tunic, but the kid didn’t need to know that. All he had to focus on now was not falling from Goliath’s saddle.</p>
<p>“I’m okay Percival, just a little tired.”</p>
<p>It didn’t really seem like the he believed him, but he nodded and turned his attention back to steering Goliath, he hoped that he wouldn’t bring it up again or call him out on his lies. The last thing he needed at this moment in time was to engage in a confrontation with a child, a child that would most likely beat him at said confrontation. Maybe he needed to re-evaluate this bond, his ego couldn’t handle it if he were beaten at an argument by an eleven-year-old boy while he was bleeding out on the back of his own horse.</p>
<p>Goliath seemed to be getting tired, they had been riding for almost an entire day, and he hadn’t been able to stop to graze or get water. But just as he was about to tell the boy to stop so they could tend to their mount, Squirrel suddenly perked up at something in the distance. Looking up, there seemed to be a rider coming towards them, leaving the shade of a nearby forest. The only thing his blurred eyesight could catch up on was that the horse was grey, and the rider seemed to be… blue? He didn’t have to wait long to see what the rider looked like, as the horse was approaching them very quickly. Squirrel seemed to freeze as the… woman… came into view.</p>
<p>“Wait… isn’t that?... Sister Alice.”</p>
<p>Percival didn’t seem to hear him, as he hopped down and shouted to get the woman’s attention. He was too disoriented to say anything and before he knew it he was feeling sluggish and started to lose awareness, he briefly spoke with the Fey woman. This ‘Nimue’ that Percival had mention- not shut up about for the first few hours of their ride. He next came to when the boy almost forgot his name in the excitement.</p>
<p>“Lancelot. My name is Lancelot.”</p>
<p>He saw the gears begin to spin in her head, as she connected his appearance in her memory, the tears were the biggest give-away no doubt. She only knew him as ‘The Weeping Monk’ and the fact that he was a living, breathing person was probably a shock to her system. After she recovers from her initial shock at his identity wore off she decided to introduce herself to him, despite the fact that their little friend had been rambling about her for almost twelve hours and he basically knew her entire life story.</p>
<p>“Lancelot? I’m Nimue.” </p>
<p>His eyes quirked up, in genuine amusement, he knew about her, but she apparently knew nothing about him other than his Alias and now… his name. Nimue, The Fey Queen, The Wolf-Blood Witch and Sister Alice, as he had seen her in the Abbey some time ago.</p>
<p>“I know, our little friend here wouldn’t stop talking about you the entire time, though he never mentioned that you were so protective.”</p>
<p>She let out a sweet chuckle and met his gaze with a crooked smile, leading him to smile back at her and let out a chuckle of his own. They were strangely civil for being, technically, enemies in this whole monarch struggle. But civility was better than being at each other’s throats.    </p>
<p>“Yeah, Squirrel is like family to me, so I’m very serious when it comes to him.”</p>
<p>He looked down at the sheepish young boy who was avoiding her eyes, and then nodded his head in agreement. He could tell that Percival meant a lot to her, and he was glad in that moment, because he had finally succumbed to his blood loss and fell forward in Goliath’s saddle.</p>
<p>And the world went black.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was unaware of what went on while he was lost in the depths of his own mind, he could feel himself be moved and could feel a horse’s body under his legs. But as for feeling his body, he couldn’t feel it, Even if he wanted to move his limbs or open his eyes, he couldn’t. The blood loss had become too much for his conscious to handle. The only thing he could truly feel was the pain in his abdomen and back, the lashes he had been given and gave himself were not treated correctly, they weren’t treated at all if he was being honest, he preferred to make himself hurt as much as possible when he punished himself. The idea always seemed right, that pain would bring atonement and God would see that he was worthy enough to be granted access to the gates of Eden, that his soul would be saved at the cost of his flesh and blood, it always seemed like the worthy sacrifice for his eternal soul.</p>
<p>But there were always moments when the pain didn’t work, where he was reminded that he was nothing but a demon pretending to be pure, pretending to be anything other than a Demon with a human-like visage. Sin was pervasive, that he knew, he was always taught to fight against it, to purge the sin from his body, mind, soul and the earth itself. Its why he never hesitated to harm The Fey… The Demons that Cardan had convinced him would spread a deadly disease throughout the world, it took him so long to realise that Cardan and The Paladins were the disease. He was the one spreading their disease, coast to coast, burning innocent Fey all in the name of what?... Righteousness… The Will Of God?... That was nothing but a shield for Cardan and his followers. It was less of a Brotherhood and more of a cult, he never realised that until it was too late, but now… he’d be lucky if he gained consciousness again.</p>
<p>He had slipped into a full loss of consciousness, he could no longer feel if he was still on Nimue’s grey horse, he could no longer feel the pain in his abdomen or back, could no longer feel any of the blood leaving his body. He had slipped into the abyss and dreamed only of the darkness of his own mind, it was full of his memories, every horrible thing he had done… If he were once a religious man, he knew that he would not be able to enter Eden, for he had sinned too often and too greatly to ever be deemed worthy of forgiveness or redemption. He only hoped his punishment was one that he deserved. For he deserved no better than the depths of Hell, he would be granted no pearly white gates that Salvation would lay beyond.</p>
<p>They must have travelled for almost an hour, as the only shift he could feel was the warmth of the sun leaving his senses, which meant that Dusk would soon be upon them. He did not know if he would make it, but he hoped that Percival would not mourn him, they hadn’t been civil for long after all, he doubted that he made such an impression in such a small time frame. Up until he defended him from Cardan, the boy thought he was a heartless, ruthless monster only capable of Wrath and murder. He hoped that some of that resentment remained, that he didn’t think of his few good actions and mourned. He would be remembered as a cruel murderer, not as a caring man… for a caring man, he was not. Lancelot would go to his grave as ‘The Weeping Monk’ and nothing more, he would be a monster, he could not bear to see himself mourned as a hero or a saviour. He did not deserve that kind of praise and he was glad for it.</p>
<p>Heroes are fools, they throw themselves into the fire for the sake of approval, to seem worthy and admirable. Truthfully, they were all egotistical men who cared about the notches in their bedposts rather than honour. True honour came from selfless action, not hoping you would have songs and stories written about you. If heroes were truly as honourable as the ballads claimed, why were they always about slaughtering villages and tearing families apart. He was no hero, he was the villain, and he was comfortable in that knowledge. He was not raised to be gentle, nor was he raised to help others. He was raised to be a weapon, a killer and so that is what he became, he was not a good man.</p>
<p>Lost in his moral struggle, he succumbed to the sweet allure the darkness offered him, thinking only about his mother, his father and what could have been.</p>
<p>What should have been.</p>
<p>Cold.</p>
<p>That was the first conscious thought to enter his mindscape, after so long drifting in the darkness and reliving his past, he suddenly felt cold.</p>
<p>Wet.</p>
<p>That was the next thought, Though he was confused as to how he suddenly felt wet, it did not have the same scent as blood, did not feel like the gushing of it either. ‘Water?’ yes, water. His wounds were being tended; had he been dreaming? Was he in the Medic tent back at Cardan’s encampment, was all this sick dream? Or was the fever making him disoriented? He felt like he was about to find out the answer, as he slowly became conscious.</p>
<p>Having his wounds cleaned and dressed was a good thing at least, he would not have to worry about losing more blood, since he had lost too much over the last couple of days. Lancelot became aware of hair brushing his chest, gentle hands keeping him in place and a soft humming coming from his mender. Finding a moment of respite amidst the chaos, he allowed himself the chance to relax and let himself be cared for, even if it would only last a moment.</p>
<p>The hands were soft, yet calloused from work? Riding, and… Wielding a sword? Nimue. Yes, his memories were coming back to him, Percival had spotted his friend riding towards them and had introduced the two. He could not remember much of their interaction, but judging by how gentle she was being, it was not one of hostility or the cruel exchanging of jabs. His guess was that Percival had coaxed her into treating him, making sure he was okay, that boy was beginning to grow on him, he just had that effect. That child would be the death of him one day, but apparently that day was not today. The feeling of a cool cloth sliding over his torso was almost heavenly, he had broken out in a sweat due to fever, and the water was cold and refreshing.</p>
<p>Lancelot lay there for what seemed like hours, until he was rushed with a sudden feeling of fear, she was touching his back, his lashes. He couldn’t allow her to see them and could not allow her to touch them. There were some things that he would never be comfortable with, and that was others seeing his greatest shame.</p>
<p>As she went to grab onto his back once more, Lancelot woke with a start and moved away from her. “What do you think you’re doing?!” he was now agitated, his eyes were shifting back and forth, and he was filled with a fierce sense of fear, which took control of his instincts.</p>
<p>“I was treating your wounds, you collapsed shortly after we met, and I brought you to a spring. Are you okay, Lancelot?”</p>
<p>Nimue moved towards him slowly, while Percival could be seen in his peripherals, looking on and worrying about him. Lancelot looked at her and tried to piece together the memories of the hours prior to his current situation., she stopped moving towards him and he drew the comparison between a predator circling her prey before pouncing. Only it seemed as though she did not wish for him to flee but lay down and accept his fate at her hands. He knew that she meant no harm, but the fear remained. He tried to play dumb, distract her, make her think that he had no recollection. Maybe that could work in his favour.</p>
<p>“My wounds? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p>
<p>She partially fell for it and explained how he was at risk of dying from fever if he didn’t allow her to treat his deeper wounds, which he knew that he should, but he could not let her touch his back. They spoke some more, Nimue revealing she had her own scars, about a Dark God and the Black Fever, this woman was truly a Marvel, no wonder she had come so far in so little time. She is a warrior, and he knew that she was not one to be taken lightly, he almost admired her for that. In the end he had made a deal, he would allow her to sew his torso, but his back was left alone. She agreed, albeit reluctantly, but he knew that his back would not be dire, his intentions were always pain, not death when he was lashed. Nimue had got to work, and as she was tucked into his space, stitching the skin of his chest he couldn’t help but catch a whiff of the scent from Yvoire Abbey. Honey, with a hint of Apple plus that tell-tale spice of Fey blood within her veins.</p>
<p>With her, the scent was even more potent than any other Fey that he had encountered in his life. Her connection to The Hidden must have been incredibly strong, for only those with immense power could smell so potent. He was almost envious of her, he had cut off his connection to The Hidden when he was taken by Cardan, he was made to believe they were Satan himself whispering in his ear and making him do his evil and corrupt bidding, maybe he would allow them in again. Would they still recognize him as a child of The Fey? Would they still allow himself to access his power once more? He had his doubts, but he could always hope to experience it once more. Maybe he would, maybe Nimue would aid him in that, he would ask her if she would be willing to help him reconnect to who he once was… But then he remembered… Nimue thinks that he is a human, not Fey.</p>
<p>He was not sure that it was wise to reveal his Fey nature, she would most likely brand him as a traitor and want nothing to do with him. He had spent over a decade hunting and killing his own kind, there is nothing to forgive or forget when it comes to crimes such as that. So, maybe he should try to keep that part of him away for a while, and hope that Percival would not tell her when the two were alone together. The little rascal was loveable, but he knew how to run his mouth even when it was unwarranted and unappreciated, Lancelot had to deal with that characteristic for around sixteen hours and he regretted every second of it. The kid was great, but he had no filter and seemed to be unaware of the fact that he talked at such a fast speed and so often. He even talked of Nimue for almost six of those sixteen hours, hence why he basically already fully knew the Fey girl, minus any new details since the two had been separated.</p>
<p>Still, he could only pray that Percival did not spill anything to Nimue, Lancelot was not ready to have that awkward conversation at this moment in time.</p>
<p>It had taken a while for Nimue to stitch him up and clean his chest, and he was honestly beginning to feel a lot better. He could still feel the fever heating up his forehead, but it wasn’t as unbearable or as painful as it was in the hours previous. He was grateful for her kindness, she had patched up someone that her people viewed as an enemy, and she was a little afraid, he could smell it, but she wasn’t allowing her fear to cloud her judgement. That was something, worthy of respect. He knew that he is only known to her as ‘The Weeping Monk’ and that she does not know ‘Lancelot’ but he was grateful to her for putting all of their bad blood aside, even if it was only for one night, which he hoped it would not be. Nimue was kind, but she had an iron to her, hidden beneath her beauty and gentle hands lay the spirit of a warrior and Lancelot felt connected to that part of her. She had always done what was right for her people, and he had only ever heard god things about ‘The Fey Queen’ things that had endeared her to him.</p>
<p>After he had been fully tended to, she had handed him his cloak and asked if he wanted her to clean it, but he did not wish to trouble her anymore with his wellbeing. He had simply told her he would do it himself, which he had set out to do. After ensuring that Nimue hadn’t followed and Percival was still slumbering in the corner of the cave, he made his way to the Spring near the entrance. It wasn’t too far; the water was warm, and he welcomed the soothing sting as he sunk down into it and finally let all the tension drain from his muscles. His back was deeper than he had thought, with the blood spilling out and dying the water a soft rose colour. It was a beautiful sight to see the red bleed into the water, in a way it was a sign of his old life bleeding out of him. </p>
<p>He, once again, felt the pull to The Hidden as he was lounging and letting himself clear his mind. He felt their tickling embrace crawl up his chest and could hear their eerie whispering in his ear. He hadn’t reached out to them for a long time, would they still allow him to access his powers? He didn’t know, but it was worth a try at least.</p>
<p>Clearing his mind, allowing himself to dip into the concealed part of his being, Lancelot reached out to the voices within his head and allowed the power to enter his body. He could feel the vines crawl up his chest and neck, where they ended at the contours of his cheeks. Looking to his left, he saw a patch of moss, and ran his fingertips through the damp patch, watching as his hands took on their leafy appearance. It was a strange feeling, to be in tune with his Fey side after he spent so long concealing it and viewing himself as an abomination in Cardan’s eyes.</p>
<p>Running his hands along the rocks of the pool his hand got caught on a thorn and a rivulet of blood flowed down to his wrist. The red, in contrast to the green of his hand, stood out like a line of rubies down an emerald stone. It was a strangely beautiful sight to behold. He had lost himself in this feeling so deeply, that he didn’t hear the careful approach of lightweight feet behind him. He also didn’t hear a concealed knife drop to the ground, alongside the jaw of the woman now stood behind him. He also did not expect the shriek that made his blood freeze in his veins and a chill run down his scarred back.</p>
<p>“You’re a FEY?!!!”</p>
<p>The voice made Lancelot whip his head around, there was Nimue stood with her mouth agape, a knife on the ground and a look of genuine shock on her face. His nerves kicked in, causing The Hidden to retreat and take his Fey appearance along with them. He had never let another being see his identity, other than when The Green Knight had seen it during their clash, but even that was just a slip in his defence. Nimue, however, was gazing at him in a moment of vulnerability, no one has seen him like this, and he didn’t like it. He was about to jump to a defensive position, but as his gaze focused on the Fey girl, he noticed her chest was bandaged and crimson liquid was spilling through the fabric. She was injured…. How did he not notice that earlier?</p>
<p>“You’re hurt.”</p>
<p>Nimue’s face dropped and she lowered her gaze to her chest, noting the state of her bandaging. She let out an exasperated sigh and turned, as if to go back to the cave. But Lancelot could not allow her to leave in that state. From what he could piece together, there were bumps protruding from underneath her makeshift dressings, so that meant arrow shafts, she had probably let them in, and she had been riding. Her wounds were most likely torn due to strenuous physical activity. If she would allow him, he would hopefully be able to assist her in cleaning and stitching her wounds, maybe that would get her mind off of his nature for a little while.</p>
<p>“Nimue… You helped me, your enemy. I know you don’t trust me, but please let me help you right now. It’s the least I can do for what you’ve done for me.”</p>
<p>She froze in her tracks, seemingly processing the last few moments and then turned back to look at him. She looked at him, almost through him from the intensity in her eyes, and after a moment made her way over to him. He was glad that he had left his trousers on, otherwise this would have been a very awkward moment. Nimue removed the binding around her chest and abdomen, leaving her in a tattered tunic and breeches. He wondered how long she’s had these wounds, the older they are, the harder they will be to treat. He wanted to make her comfortable, so as she made to remove her tattered tunic, he made the decision to turn away from her. His back was on full display now, something he didn’t like, but he knew that it would at least show her that he trusted her and that she could trust him.</p>
<p>She had seen the marks, her breath had hitched, making him aware that she had seen just how disgusting his body truly was. The years of abuse and self-torment had shaped his body into that of a killer’s. It was not something he was proud of, like the crucifix carved into the back of his head, leaving a painful scar behind. It was why he refused to shave his head; he didn’t want it on display. With his long hair he could hide it, only the tattoos under his eyes could display the truth of his identity. The ‘Weeping’ Monk, The Fey Killer.</p>
<p>He heard the disturbed water as Nimue lowered herself into the spring behind him, he waited until she hummed her consent for him to turn around and face her. He was slow to turn, approaching the situation as a predator would approach a skittish prey animal. She was nervous, obviously, he could see her shoulders shake and her chest was moving erratically. He held his hands where she could see them, not wanting to cause her any more distress. She had agreed to let him help her, the panic was probably due to something else, so he wasn’t going to stress her out any longer otherwise she would probably run. He genuinely wanted to repay her for patching up his chest.</p>
<p>After she had realized, he wasn’t going to move towards her unless she asked, her breathing evened out and she began to, slowly and reservedly, relax in his presence. She had removed the self-made dressing from her abdomen and chest, revealing the arrow shafts and entrance wounds of the two arrows that had pierced her. They had gone very deep, and she had done a good job of stemming the bleeding that the wounds have caused. From the looks of the surrounding skin, still being a reddish-purple indicated that her wounds were around two days old. Which made sense considering they had run into one another in the late morning, she had probably acquired the wounds the day prior, which means that she had been riding with open arrow wounds. Not a particularly good thing to do, at all.</p>
<p>She moved closer to him, so that he could fully examine her wounds and he moved to touch the shafts one at a time, to check how sensitive the wounds were. She lout out harsh gasps whenever his hand would graze the wooden stems and he knew that removing them would be hard, she would have to stay completely still to ensure that the arrowheads wouldn’t tear her skin as he removed them. They were sat in, surprisingly, comfortable silence as he prodded at the surrounding skin. The skin was still red, not black or purple which meant there was no internal bleeding. There was no fluid leaking from around the entrance wound, meaning that the arrows were probably applying enough pressure to the inside preventing any further damage. Internal pressure was the best thing at the current moment.</p>
<p>Nimue pulled up a strip of fabric from her tunic, to use as a washcloth on her wounds and, the previous blood has dried and crusted over leaving its traces on her skin. She winced while trying to clean around the arrow in her chest, causing him to reach out and stop her hand. She looked up at him in confusion, her blue eyes sparkling in the light of the setting sun, he gently took the cloth from her hands, sending her a message through his eyes, for her to trust him. She nodded and he got to carefully cleaning the skin of her torso, making sure he didn’t knock the protruding objects. She still tensed occasionally but managed to stay still and relaxed while he cleaned her up.</p>
<p>The two of them had never really interacted with one another before, and they had been on opposing sides for the entirety of the time that they had known of each other. So, a conversation would probably end in awkward tension between them, they probably had nothing in common to talk about anyway, so silence was probably the best option at this point in time.</p>
<p>A sentiment that Nimue didn’t share apparently.</p>
<p>“You’re a Fey.”</p>
<p>A Statement.</p>
<p>She didn’t tremble when she said it, there was no anger either, only confusion with a soft tone to her voice. It confused him, why was she not shouting at him? Cursing him for everything that he had done to her- their kind. She was being kind, although she did leave the cave with a knife in her hands, even though he couldn’t blame her, he was her ‘enemy’ after all. He had taken part in the raid and destruction of her village, leading Father Carden to her people, which further confused him, why was she not confronting him about it? She was just talking about his nature as a Fey. She truly was an enigma, as he was coming to learn.</p>
<p>Lancelot looked up at her, noticing the genuine curiosity in her eyes, and proceeded to answer her.</p>
<p>“Yes. Ash Folk, the last one. At least to my knowledge.”</p>
<p>She nodded at him and he could see that her head had cocked at the mention of his clan, The Ash Folk. They had practically gone extinct when Cardan came to his village, he spared only Lancelot himself. The memories were painful, most of them repressed due to the pain he did not want to remember. The tattoos under his eyes, a reminder of the tears he had shed for his family and his people. Tears that the Monks laughed at him for, saying that it was irony for the Fey killer to mourn the Fey. None but Cardan had known of his true nature after all, passing him off as a Human boy that the ‘Demons’ had stolen from a village. An obvious lie, but one that had worked for more than 15 years of his life, one that he had upheld… until that damned Green Knight came along and called him ‘Brother’.</p>
<p>“Ash Folk? I heard of what happened when I was a child. The Red Paladins had slaughtered the entire clan and made them extinct. If you truly are Ash Folk, then I’m so sorry for that. It must have been painful.”</p>
<p>Genuine sorrow and pity were laced in her voice, along with empathy, reminding him that she had probably lost family on the day of her village being torched. Cardan was famed for leaving no survivors, claimed to be ‘purging’ the earth of the Demons sent from Satan himself. Lancelot didn’t agree with many of Cardan’s methods. He didn’t even spare the children… Lancelot always spared the children. A child could be guilty of no crime such as Satanic worship, and maybe Lancelot could not bear to do to a child… what was done to him. He remembered how he had sobbed and despaired for months over the loss of his family. The guilt of outliving them, of outliving the other children, even those who were unborn.</p>
<p>Cardan was particularly cruel with pregnant Fey.</p>
<p>Satan’s Whores.</p>
<p>That’s what he called them.</p>
<p>The women who ‘lay with Satan’ and produced ‘Demon’ offspring. A false, cruel claim but one that the fanatics always believed, it was an ‘honour’ to slaughter an unborn Fey child in the eyes of The Trinity Guard. Ending the future generation as well as the current ones, it was cruel, inhumane and horrific… and Lancelot had to bear witness to it throughout his life. It always made him sick, watching the Paladins cut open, run through or burn a pregnant woman, all for being pregnant with a Non-Human child. A child that had committed no sin, no ill will, but was still slaughtered in the name of a Lord above. Those were the nights that he would allow himself to cry, mourn the loss of the truly innocent. His mind may have been warped by Cardan’s abuse and conditioning, but even his broken mind knew that harming a child of any kind was wrong.</p>
<p>“And I’m sorry. I know you are aware of my involvement of your village being destroyed; I honestly wish I had met Percival sooner. Maybe he could have convinced me to change my ways earlier, to avoid more bloodshed. He has a way of tugging on the heartstrings.”</p>
<p>Nimue had tensed when he mentioned her village, but she smiled at him, with nothing but kindness in her eyes, kindness that he did not deserve. She touched her hand to his, stroking along the veins on his palms, the touch was soothing, and her hands were coarse. She was a sword-wielder after all, he didn’t exactly expect her hands to be those of a Maiden who had never worked a day in her life. Her hands were a strange mixture, soft to the touch but with a rough grip of a woman who truly didn’t know how to soften her hold, too used to needing the strong grip of a warrior. And that was what she was after all, The Warrior Fey Queen, who had guided her people to safety.</p>
<p>“Percival? Squirrel never uses his real name. He must really like you Lancelot. And... thank you. I lost my mother that day, and then embarked on probably the strangest adventure anyone could ever go on. I was a misfit in my village, the one everyone viewed as Cursed, the one who no one wanted to befriend. And now? I’m the Queen of all Fey kind. I took an entire City as my own and I secured my people’s future. Some nights I still can’t believe that it was real, that the last few months have happened to me, that I did all of those things and came out the other side. With a few arrows in my chest, but still alive/”</p>
<p>Hearing her speak of her experience pulled at Lancelot’s long dead heart. She had suffered through so much, had borne the weight of so many people and stepped into the role of a Queen. It suited her, he could see the iron will and the strength that lay beneath her skin. It was hard to miss unless you looked for it, but Nimue carried herself with the might of those she had defended and fought for. She truly was a force of Nature. Her strong connection to The Hidden was proof enough of that.</p>
<p>“I am sorry that you lost your mother, Nimue. Truly I am.”</p>
<p>He gripped her hand in his and looked into her eyes when he said this to her, wanting her to know that he means every word and that is apology is genuine and sincere. She knew, her smile said it all.<br/>She gripped his hand back, with equal strength.</p>
<p>“And I’m sorry you lost your people. But can I ask you, and you don’t need to answer, why did you agree to help Cardan… After everything that happened’”</p>
<p>He let out a sigh and prepared to tell the story once more, maybe it would ease more tension between them if he cleared the air on why he became Cardan’s personal butcher. A part of him always believe that Cardan wanted others to Sin for him, so that his own hands would remain clean of the blood of the innocent. Cardan probably knew that what he did was wrong, that he was just a crazy Zealot. But men like him would use any excuse, any pitiful reasoning to convince themselves that they are sin-free and pure men of the cloth. He was anything but.</p>
<p>“Cardan burned my village when I was a boy, his men slaughtered my family and left my friends to burn. But I had a gift, a curse really, I could sense other Fey, could feel their energy. Cardan discovered that and spared my life on the condition that I help him hunt others down. I was a child; I was afraid, and I didn’t want to die… so I agreed to his deal. I was raised by him, to hate the Fey and to follow the word of God. He made me into a killing machine, made me believe that everything he had said was true, I grew to hate myself and other Fey. It was horrible, if I did something wrong, I was beaten or whipped. It was my own personal Hell… but no less of what I deserved.”</p>
<p>He hung his head, ashamed of his story even now, it wasn’t the life he wanted, but it was the life he chose, that’s what made it worse. He CHOSE to kill his brothers and sisters, chose to destroy their lives the way that his was destroyed. But he always spared the children, because if he was once a child who had to learn the harsh realities of the world, so should they. It was a cruel philosophy that he had ingrained in his brain, the weak die and the strong survive, so he made those children strong by showing them what happens to the weak. It was an unforgiving world they live in, it has always been this way, and he doubts that it will ever change. Differences, especially between Humans and Non-Humans will always be the cause of conflict and war, Fey will always be slaughtered for their differences.</p>
<p>He had learned to hate himself, what he was, the fact that he wasn’t human and never would be was something that tormented him as a child. He would ‘never be saved’ because he wasn’t Human, and Fey were demons that would never find salvation in death. Being raised by Cardan, told that God would not accept him into the gates of Heaven, was one of the most terrifying things for him. All because of something e couldn’t change, because he wasn’t born Human and so he would never have a pure soul or be granted eternal peace. He wished that he could go back to those days when he was a boy, to tell him that he didn’t need to be afraid, that he wasn’t a Demon, that he didn’t need a God to be saved, just a little Fey boy to convince him that he could turn it all around and be better.</p>
<p>Lancelot knew that he had many things to atone for, many people to make it up to, but he was ready to be himself again, to fully embrace who he is, what he is and he was ready to finally let his connection to The Hidden come back again. It would be hard, but he was ready to make everything right once more.</p>
<p>He suddenly felt a hand on his cheek, a thumb brushing under his eye, and trying to soothe him. Nimue had reached out to him and he was shocked at her sweet and gentle gesture, she hadn’t shown disgust or resentment, but she had reached out to comfort him, and he was grateful for it. No one had ever reached out to help him before, and he wasn’t used to the kindness that she was displaying. </p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, Lancelot. No one deserves to go through that and especially not at such a young age. You had no choice in the matter, and you did what you needed to do in order to survive. I cannot blame you for that, no one can, Cardan raised you to be like this. None of this was truly your fault, I don’t want you to think that it is.”</p>
<p>Her words were a comfort to him, and her sweet gesture meant the world to him. He didn’t deserve her kindness, nor her pity for what Cardan had done to him. He was grateful that she wasn’t being judgemental for everything that he had confessed to her about his past, anyone else and he would have been left for dead. Nimue truly was unlike any other he had met in this life, she was kind, even to one that she viewed as an enemy not two days prior. But Lancelot was glad that she had run into himself and Percival.</p>
<p>“I don’t deserve your kindness, Nimue.”</p>
<p>He grabbed her hand in his and lowered it until it was at chest level between them, his grip was firm but soft enough to not cause her any alarm. She tightened her hold on his hand, with an even firmer grip than he had, moving to rub her thumb along the veins on the back of his hand and he welcomed the feeling it brought. She was nothing like he expected, he had heard the stories of ‘The Wolf-Blood Witch’ and the fear she would strike into the hearts of The Red Paladins, the ‘Unholy’ Fey Queen that knew nothing but brutality and Sin. Yet here she was in front of him, dressing his wounds, allowing him to tend to her own and offering her enemy comfort in his vulnerable state.</p>
<p>“No. You don’t deserve anything that happened to you, my kindness is the least that you do deserve. You went through so much, you were raised among people who didn’t accept you, who didn’t genuinely care for you or what you are. You are deserving of kindness, everyone is. Yes, you did terrible things, had a hand in the deaths of many. But I also have blood on my hands, I killed one of my own, let a killer into my people’s ranks, that same killer shot me full of arrows and almost killed me. No one is innocent in this game of power grabbing. The sooner we all learn that the better.”</p>
<p>Lancelot was once again shocked by what she had said, it’s true that so many people regardless of background or belief had blood on their hands in this world of power grabs. She had killed people, she had caused the deaths of many and she was still standing, she was still kind and she was still willing to offer friendship to someone who had also done wrong in their lives. Nimue was a mystery, and one that he was excited to unravel, who is she? Not the Queen, but the young woman, who was Nimue?</p>
<p>He had never been so curious about another person as much as he was about the woman sat in front of him, he was curious to see where this would go. Maybe this was the start of a new friendship between ‘The Fey Killer’ and the Queen of The Fey. What a strange experience this would be.</p>
<p>He prepared to remove the shafts of the arrows, knowing that he needed to get his mind back on track, to prevent her from suffering any damage from the arrows embedded in her chest. She agreed to focus on the task at hand, even though he knew she would probably bring this whole conversation up at a later hour or even a different day entirely. She had gripped the mossy rocks on the edge of the spring as he prepared to pull the foreign objects from her body, he could see the tension in her shoulders and heard the sharp breaths she was taking and he knew that she was afraid of what was about to happen. He had sympathy for her, he had been shot with arrows before, and knew that the removal process was one of the most painful things in the world.</p>
<p>After making sure that she was fully prepared for him to start removing the arrows, receiving a nod and a pained smile from her, he gripped the shaft of the arrow lodged in her shoulder. He decided to give her a second to prepare a little more, she was ready now, so he made sure to have a tight grip on the wood and after a countdown in his head, he pulled. </p>
<p>The arrow came out within a second, and along with it came a strained scream from Nimue, a gushing of blood and the smell of copper in his nose. Luckily, the entire shaft and the tip of the arrow came out in one go, it didn’t snap, and the head didn’t remain inside of her chest. This was a good thing, it meant there was no tear, no additional damage and she would be fine. Nimue wouldn’t need anything more than a herbal poultice, a tight dressing and added pressure to the wound for her recovery. She was lucky that after all this time that she was impaled on these arrows, that they hadn’t shifted and torn even more muscle or veins from within her chest. Especially when the entrance wound was so close to her heart, any closer or deeper and she would be dead.</p>
<p>He grabbed the damp strip of tunic that they had used to clean the blood and quickly tied it around her chest, stemming the bleeding while they worked on removing the other arrow. After giving her a moment to breathe and collect her thoughts, she gave him the go-ahead to remove the final arrow. He knew that this one would be even more painful, as the shaft was embedded deeper into her body, meaning that it probably had a smaller entrance wound than the other, making him even more concerned about removing it. She was more at risk of a tear and even more bleeding, with the possibility of the arrow breaking or the head remaining inside of her wound. He just hoped that he could remove this one all in one piece and prevent any further damage to her body.</p>
<p>He gripped the shaft, hard. Knowing that this one would take a lot more strength than the other one to remove all in one piece. Maybe he would be lucky and manage to remove it all in one pull. So, he nodded to her, she nodded back, and he pulled with all the strength he had. This time, she couldn’t contain the scream that erupted in her throat, he had managed to remove the offending weapon but her skin had torn as he had removed it, the arrowhead tearing through the tissue of her skin and causing a bigger bleed than the other arrow had. He had to dress the wound. Now. </p>
<p>She was in a lot of pain; tears were leaking from her eyes and small sobs and whimpers were falling from her lips. He felt terrible. He knew that it had to be done but it was still heart-breaking to know that his actions had caused her a lot of pain, he just hoped that he hadn’t caused excess damage to her wound. That would truly be a terrible thing.</p>
<p>He had ripped a strip of fabric from his cloak, that he had left on the side of the rocks, and immediately applied pressure to her wound. She let out a pained gasp and he whispered his apologies to her, making sure that she stayed still to prevent the wound from opening anymore. She was shaking now, and her face had turned a sick shade of white, after securing the makeshift dressing he reached a hand up to check her temperature and her reaction. Her pupils were blown wide, her forehead was clammy, and her breath was coming out in short puffs of air. A fever was probably going to spike overnight and that was a huge worry for him. The wounds were not fatal, but a fever could easily take her life if it progressed any further.</p>
<p>He immediately began to gather water and pat it along her forehead to cool her down, using another torn piece of his cloak if he could get her temperature to lower a fever could not start and she would be okay. He must have dabbed the cold water on her forehead for around five minutes before she began to cool down and start to come to. She was dazed, looking around with a distant look in her eyes, which tells him that she wasn’t mentally present for the past few moments.</p>
<p>“What? What happened?”</p>
<p>Nimue moved to sit up, but gasped as it pulled on her open wounds. Lancelot rushed to help her slowly sit up, since she had slumped lower when she had almost succumbed to a fever. Making sure that she was seated upright, that she was conscious and strong enough to hold herself up and then sat back on his heels to explain everything that happened.</p>
<p>“I managed to remove both of the arrows, they came out all in one piece thankfully, but then you started to turn pale and your forehead started to burn up. Then you must have lost consciousness because you weren’t responding to me cooling you down with some water, are you feeling okay?”</p>
<p>He was full of concern for her right now, not wanting her to fall unconscious once again and made sure to keep an eye on her, being alert enough to make sure that if she did pass out he could make sure she didn’t go beneath the water’s surface. He would probably monitor her throughout the night too, just to makes sure that she was okay. Nimue looked shocked that all of that had even happened, looking down at her chest and noticing the freshly bandaged wounds and then looking at him to decipher his movements.</p>
<p>“You bandaged me up? Thank you, Lancelot. I genuinely can’t remember anything after you grabbing the first arrow, I wasn’t even aware they were both out.”</p>
<p>He nodded at her, clearly the pain was what made her pass out, not a fever. Which is good, because that means that her heating up was just her body’s response to the amount of pain that it endured in such a short amount of time. That meant that she shouldn’t need extra monitoring during the night, but he would have to gather some herbs for a poultice to help speed along the recovery and prevent any infection. Infections were not something to be trifled with, especially in the middle of nowhere with no visible nearby towns, where they could of stopped at a local physician’s hut.</p>
<p>“You’re welcome. I’m just glad that you didn’t contract a fever, that would have been bad, and I don’t think I would have been able to properly treat it for you. I’m just happy that you’re conscious now.”</p>
<p>Nimue nodded and seemed to fully come to again before she squinted and glanced down at his chest. Moving closer to him and brushing her hands along the stitches she had made earlier in the day when their positions were reversed, and she was nursing him back to health in the cave. The tables had turned within the last couple hours and it was almost comical, they had both played the physician and the patient which seemed very humorous to Lancelot.</p>
<p>“Your chest is covered in blood, let me help you with that.”</p>
<p>He started to protest, not wanting her to put any more strain on her body, but she must have predicted that he would do that and stopped his protest before it started.</p>
<p>“You’ve helped me so much today, at least let me repay you.”</p>
<p>He couldn’t argue with that, so he allowed her to gather water in her hands and start to slowly sweep them across his chest, clearing the crimson liquid from his skin. Her hands felt warm on his cool chest and the feeling of them brushing along his pectorals felt really relaxing and sent a shiver up his spine. She was focused on clearing his chest of the coppery liquid, looking up and catching his gaze to make sure that he was okay with her doing this.</p>
<p>They locked eyes, and he noticed the warmth radiating from them, her hands began to slow as they became entranced in each other’s presence, her hair brushed against his chest as she leaned forward. He moved his hand to move her hair behind her ear, to get it out of her way and he heard her breath hitch as he did so.</p>
<p>She leaned closer to him…</p>
<p>“Nimue? You There?”</p>
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